Punk 57(46)

Maybe he knows who Ryen is. Maybe I should tell him who I am.

“Would you like to leave a message?” he prompts, starting to inch back and preparing to close the door.

“No,” I rush out. “Thank you, sir.”

He nods and swings the door closed.

But I shoot my hand out, stopping him. “Sir?” He looks up, stopping. “Is he okay?” I ask. “I just… I haven’t heard from him in a while.”

His father is silent for a moment, watching me, before answering with a resolute tone. “He’s fine.”

And then he closes the door, and I stand on the front step, frozen and confused.

What does that mean?

I guess I should be happy, right? He’s fine, isn’t he?

He lives here. His father says he’s not home right now, which means he’s home sometimes, so he hasn’t moved or died or joined the Army.

But I don’t feel happy.

He’s fine. He lives here. He’s not home right now. Everything’s normal. Nothing’s changed.

So if he hasn’t moved or died or joined the Army, then why the hell isn’t he writing me anymore?

I spin around and charge for my Jeep, knowing what Ryen, Misha’s friend, would do. She’d never give up. She’d keep writing with undying loyalty, trusting that he has a good reason.

But the Ryen that Misha doesn’t know, the survivor, is taking hold right now, and she doesn’t like being played with.

You know my address, *. Use it or don’t.

I’m not holding my breath anymore.



“Can you believe Masen Laurent?” Lyla sneers, standing next to my locker as Ten texts on his phone beside her. She stares over her shoulder at Masen and a group of guys on the other side of the hallway. “He probably got kicked out of his last school for fighting, and Trey’s getting tons of shit on Facebook for that fight.” She narrows her eyes on Masen. “Definitely hot, but what an *. He should be arrested.”

Trey’s getting shit for that fight? I keep my smirk to myself. You mean for getting his ass kicked.

I glance over at Masen who’s surrounded by four other guys, all of them laughing and joking around as if they’ve been best friends forever. Masen smiles at one of them and shakes his head, sucking a straw between his lips as he takes a drink from a 7-Eleven cup.

I feel my cheeks warm. Those lips. I couldn’t get enough of them Friday night, and he didn’t even kiss me.

What if Lyla and Ten found out right now that he had me in the backseat of his car, and I didn’t want to stop?

He seems to sense me watching him, because he turns his head toward me, both of us locking gazes across the crowded hall. His green eyes pin me to my spot, something hot flashing in them, and I suddenly can’t move a step. I spin back around, throwing my books in my locker.

“Yeah, well,” I reply, forcing my voice flat and bored. “He seems to be finding his crowd.”

“Yeah, the bottom of the barrel,” Lyla jokes, looking at the guys Masen is standing with. “All those guys will be in jail in a year.”

They seem like the type. Masen has been here less than a week and already has a crowd of friends, all of whom seem to fit his style. A few piercings here, some tattoos there, and probably all of them well-versed on the bail process.

“So I heard you ditched him at the car wash?” Ten tosses his gum into the gray trash can against the wall between my locker and a classroom door. “You’re so bad.”

“Yeah, well.” I pull out my phone, so I can take it to lunch. “My time is precious. He better get used to manual labor, anyway.”

Lyla and Ten snort, all of us shooting amused glances over at the delinquents.

Friday Masen didn’t have any friends, and now… I’ll bet anything they came to him, too. Not the other way around.

Now everyone knows him.

“He keeps looking at you,” Ten says.

I pretend disinterest as I cast a quick glance over to Masen.

My pulse starts to race.

He stands, leaning his back against the locker, and his eyes are on me. Challenging, amused, hot…like he hasn’t forgotten where we left off at all.

“He can look all he wants,” I say, slamming my locker door and meeting his eyes as I speak to my friends. “He’s never gonna get it.”

The corner of Masen’s mouth lifts in a smile across the hall, like he knows I’m talking shit about him.

“But if he does,” Ten chimes in. “Make sure I’m the first to know, okay? I want details.”

“I’m going to prom with Trey.” I hood my eyes at Ten. “Masen Laurent can admire from afar and enjoy the view.”

Both of my friends laugh, but just then, something hits the garbage can and a stream of clear liquid shoots out and right for us. Soda splashes onto the floor, I gasp as it hits my legs and causes Lyla and Ten to jump back as sticky fluid hits their ankles and shoes.

“Asshole!” Lyla screams across the hallway.

Masen pushes off the lockers, still holding his straw as he chews on it, smirking. His friends follow, all of them chuckling.

He must’ve thrown his soda from over there, into the garbage can.

Prick.

“Sorry, Rocks.” Masen pulls the straw out of his mouth, a cocky look in his eyes as he stares at me. “Didn’t mean to make you dirty.”